


Shadows From His Past

by Catzzy



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Rescue, Sorry May, Starvation, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Violence, kidnap, may dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-03-22 19:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13771383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catzzy/pseuds/Catzzy
Summary: Peter is alone. Alone and scared, because he doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know why he’s there and he desperately needs to know that there is someone looking for him, because otherwise he has nothing to hold onto.And Tony is that someone, who is trying his best. And he is just as scared, because this time, he might not make it in time.Or where Peter is taken and Tony has to find him before it’s too late.





	1. She’s Gone

There is something serene about this awful situation. But from where he is sitting, nothing should be calm. Not ever again. 

He can’t move; he can’t talk. He can’t even breathe, and that he only realises when a few seconds go by and his breath hitches.

His eyes are fixed, blurry from the tears but staring at one spot for the past ten minutes, even though he’d rather be looking literally anywhere else. But his eyes refuse to cooperate. Why?

May is dead, that’s why.

Finally, as reality hits him like a train travelling at the speed of light, he cries, because she’s just gone. How does that happen? 

It doesn’t.

And it’s his fault. He should’ve done something, because this time he didn’t have any reason not to. He is a superhuman, he has superpowers and advantages that no one else does. But still, he couldn’t save the one person that mattered.

May mattered. Yeah, she mattered so, so much. In fact, she was the only one who did.

Then he looks down, clenching his fists while the dried blood that has made its down his neck crackles slightly. He sniffles, and then he closes his eyes. He can’t look up, and even though he’d do anything to be by her side right now, he is subconsciously glad that he’s all the way on the other side of the room, unable to move. 

As long as he’s here, he doesn’t have to face reality. He won’t have to go back to an empty home and figure out what to do with his life. That’s if he get out.

Time goes by quickly, but he can’t be sure. 

It’s been dark ever since he got here, because the windows have been boarded up, and as hard he tries, he can’t see the tiniest bit of light beaming in from the sides. Maybe it’s nighttime. 

His index finger has been tracing the corner of the arm of the chair he’s strapped to since it happened. He can’t remember for how long, but his finger is numb now, screaming for him to stop.

But that’s all he can do; all there is to do. He doesn’t exactly know what he would’ve done if he was free. It would be better than this though, because at the back of his mind, the thought that he’ll die in here is eating away.

Then there is a ruckus behind the huge doors. The last time someone came through the doors, his aunt died.

The doors open with a rusty moan, and two men walk in. They’re wearing masks, and Peter is staring at them as they practically ignore him, walking the other way. He knows where.

Peter finally looks back to May. She’s paler than she was before. Looks more dead. One of them bends down and cuts the rope to free her. Then they both pick her up, as if she’s nothing more than just a little injured. As if she’s not dead.

“Hey.” Peter says, his voice is raspy, because the last time he talked was hours and hours ago. Are they taking her away? They can’t take her away.

No one bats an eye, and Peter uses all his strength, which isn’t a lot, to push forwards and try and get their attention. “Where are you taking her?” He asks.

They don’t stop. And he continues to stare at her until she has disappeared. Only because this will be the last time he sees her. Because they killed her. Why did they do that? He doesn’t want this to be his last memory of her, because a last memory should be something happy. Something nice. This isn’t that.

He has tears in his eyes again, and he takes another shaky breath.

“I need it, Peter.” A voice says, and he looks up to see the same man from before looking down at him. Keres.

Peter looks up, because he has to. Because he’ll provoke her if he doesn’t.

She frowns mockingly, “I’m running out of ideas here. I mean, your Aunt’s dead, what else you want me to do?” 

He doesn’t answer.

“Okay. I heard you. You were a little boy when it happened, but come on, it wasn’t at the crash site, and I need it now. You have to know something.” Her tone changes three times speaking to him.

“I wouldn’t have let her die if I did.” He says quietly, because this woman is willing to kill him for something he doesn’t even know.

She gives him a hmm and then puts away her phone, because texting is more important than his life, clearly. 

“Then I’ll just have to leave you here.” She says unkindly with a shrug. As if there’s nothing else she can possibly do.

She starts walking towards him after that, and he turns away, to stop the fear from showing. Nothing good has ever happened when she’s come this close.

She looks at him sympathetically, and then bends down, resting her hand on the arm.

Peter pushes himself against the back, because she does scare him. 

She snaps her fingers, “anything. Maybe a safe or locker they left in your name, or - something!”

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at the spot where May was just a few minutes ago. He feels like a broken record, repeating the same thing over and over again even though she doesn’t seem to understand. 

Then she grabs him, her nails digging into the back of his neck. He tries to move his head, but it just ends up hurting more. 

“It is very important you tell me, Peter. Look, I don’t care about anything else, including your powers.” Then she stops and smiles, “but between you and me, I know some people who would.”

She steps back again, and Peter can see blood on the tip of her nails, which she wipes against her black coat like it’s standard. “I can’t deal with this right now, how about you sit here and think about what you’re doing to yourself?” She scolds, shaking her head and walking out.

Maybe it’s better that she’s leaving him alone now. But then, he hasn’t eaten anything in ages, and there’s no water nearby either. That’s bad, because he’s starting to get really thirsty, especially after all the screaming. Not that it worked - May died anyway.

He tried hard. He knows he did. There was nothing else he could’ve done, aside from scream at them to let her go and not hurt her, which they did.

So why does he still feel so bad? Because he was left. And that has to mean that they used her to get to him, which means she died for nothing. For him.

He twists his head a little as the back starts to sting again. But there isn’t a lot he can do when he can’t move his hands.

Being in one position for so long has started to take its toll. He is fidgety and he wants to move. He needs to move his legs, which he is sure have fallen asleep.

And soon, he falls asleep.

Normally his head falling forwards would wake him up, but he hasn’t slept in over two days, even if he doesn’t know it, and maybe this is what he needs right now.

He can deal with the trouble later.


	2. She’s Lying

Tony sits on the chair across from Rhodey, his forehead resting on his palms. This is a bad day; a horrible day.

Thirty minutes of silence.

Happy gets up from the edge of Peter’s bed, walking into their small living room, “I should’ve called him.”

Tony finally moves from the position he’s been stuck to for the past half an hour. “You didn’t know. It wasn’t your fault.” He says, although his tone isn’t nearly as convincing as it should be. 

Rhodey also leans back against the chair, “it wasn’t.” He reaffirms to cancel out Tony’s uncertainty. He knows he’ll be telling the same thing to Tony over and over again when, or if, things get bad.

“I should’ve known. He didn’t use the suit for a week. Two days should’ve been enough for me to-“ he shakes his head.

“At least we have a start.” Rhodey offers.

Tony looks at him incredulously, “a start? No. We don’t, we don’t have anything! We have the back of a black trench coat on a-a broken backstreet camera, how is that a start?”

“Tony-”

“We missed it. How did we miss it?” 

“Let’s just-let’s focus. We plan. Okay? We plan, and then we go search for him, because we have three people who can fly to places in this room.”

Tony looks around and nods, “okay. Okay.” He runs a hand over his face, “okay, you split up and-“ he stops and put a hand on his forehead again.

He’s panicking.

He can’t panic. Not right now.

“Tony.” Rhodey says, concern in his voice.

“I’m fine.” Tony says, taking a shaky breath. “I’m fi-Vision, you start in Bronx then Mt Vernon,” he pauses, “you know, just keep going up from there.” He says, gently tugging at his tie, which is on too tight.

“That’s assuming he’s there.” Vision replies, because he’s Vision. He doesn’t have a lot of emotions. Or maybe he has too many. 

“And that’s why we have three people. He’ll turn up somewhere. One tweet, as soon as he goes out in his suit or swings off a building. As soon as he’s out, I’ll know.” He continues, but what if he’s trapped somewhere? 

And then he stares at Peter’s suit that he has taken from the teenager’s room, because Peter didn’t take it. Or he couldn’t take it. His room is a mess, things smashed everywhere. Peter’s stronger though, so how-

“I’ll go east from here.” Rhodey says, standing up from his chair and disrupting Tony’s dangerous chain of thoughts.

Tony nods, “that’s-yeah, okay, I’ll start in Staten Island, go west from there.” He says, because the last time he was there, it was way less stressful than this. At least he knew where Peter was that time. What he was doing.

“Let’s go then. Something’ll probably show up before we get far.” Tony says, not that he believed it. If something was going to show up, it would have already in the past week. 

“We’ll find him. Maybe he’s just hiding.” Rhodey says, sensing the worry. 

Tony shakes his head, “no he isn’t.” The mess of an apartment is proof that he isn’t ‘just hiding’.

“We’ll find him, man.”

“Yes, though we can’t be completely certain.” Vision added quietly, because shouldn’t he tell them it’s unrealistic? Even if they don’t see it?

Tony lets out a humourless scoff, “thanks, Vision. Reality check.”

Rhodey gives Vision a look, “come on, man.”

Vision looks back and narrows his eyes, “I was just-“

“Alright, alright. Let’s go.” Tony cuts in, picking up the suit and walking out.

* * *

He’s awake half an hour after he falls asleep. That wasn’t sleep. He doesn’t know what it was. But he knows one thing now.

He can’t sleep.

He tries, but he’s uncomfortable, restrained and cold. That added with the overwhelming smell of dead leaves and rain is enough to keep him awake for now. 

In the mean time, the pain in his head has slowly started to grow. And when it is too much, he starts to blink quickly, with the ground seeming to shift under his eyes. It’s not real. Then his breathing quickens, and he isn’t getting enough air. He’s suffocating.

His hands struggle, and he wants - needs - to lift them up and cover his face. It’ll pass, come on. 

A few minutes later, it does. It passes. And he relaxes, clenching and unclenching his fists a few times to gain control over himself again. It was panic.

People will know he’s missing, right? Ned will. Or will he? It’s Christmas. He’s out of state - maybe he’ll leave a few messages and then brush it off to him being busy. 

If Happy knows, Tony will too. But Happy tracks his phone and his suit, and they’re both at home, lying on the floor somewhere next to the rest of his broken things.

Can’t think like that. People know. People know and they’re looking. Of course they are.

He looks closely at the edge he’s been tracing. The chair is metal, but the cuffs are made of Vibranium, holding down his wrists so tightly that even breaking or dislocating a thumb won’t be enough to get free.

But that means there’s no other way to get out, and he needs another way. The only thing worse than being stuck here would be knowing that there is absolutely no way to get out.

No, that’s not the worse thing. The worse thing is that he can’t move his legs. And slowly, that’s driving him crazy. He couldn’t stand sitting down for more than an hour in one position on a good day, and now it’s been over two days. 

“It’s just metal. You can break out of metal.” 

The voice is familiar, and he whips up his head instantly, searching around for where it came from. 

Then he sees her.

She’s standing with her back turned, playing with something on the table next to the door. 

“May.”

She turns, and it makes him happy, because she is happy. She has a smile on her face and she’s leaning against the table next to the door.

“Well?”

He frowns. “You’re - what?” His face scrunches up in confusion.

She shakes her head, like she used to do whenever he messed up. “It’s metal.” She repeats.

He looks down at his wrists and then up at her. “It’s Vibranium.”

“And what does that mean?”

What does that mean? It means he can’t get out. “It’s the strongest metal in the world. It’s - it’s indestructible.” He tells her, even if she’s not actually there.

She nods understandingly. “And how do you damage Vibranium?” 

He sniffles again and thinks about it, squinting every now and then. “Uh, energy. Lots of energy.”

She hums, “then breaking out of these is out of the question, right?”

He knows this already. “I said that. I told you!” He says, frustrated. 

“I can help you.” She says, raising her brows. 

All logic flies out of the window, because he starts to think she’s real. “You’re alive.”

“What did you see? What happened to me?”

He closes his eyes and cowers, because he doesn’t want to think about it. “Then leave. Just - just leave.”

“You’re losing sleep. You haven’t had any food or water, you’re going to die soon, Peter.” She points out.

If this is his mind trying to send him messages, it’s making him furious. He knows all of this, so why does he need her to tell him?

“Thanks, I didn’t know.” He says sarcastically, because what is the point of this? “I’m trapped, I - I can’t do anything.” 

“And complaining won’t save you, baby.” May says, but there is no sarcasm in her voice. It’s sincere and genuine and it sounds exactly like May. Something she would say.

“What do I do?”

“How long have you been here?”

Peter thinks about it, but there’s no way he could possibly answer that. It’s been too dark for too long, and he can’t guess.

“I don’t-“

“Think, Peter!” 

“Monday. We got here on Monday, they had us somewhere else before. But it’s so dark-”

“They were talking. What were they talking about? The men just before they took me?”

Peter shakes his head, “how would I know?”

“You would know. You do know. You have super-hearing for a reason.” 

He throws his head back and then looks back at her, “New Years. Just before they left, one of them was complaining-“

“Then that automatically means you’ve been here for two days, doesn’t it? Because we got here on Saturday.”

“Yeah.”

“And this could be the third day. Fifth or sixth in total.”

“Right. That helps me how?” He asks. And it’s all genuine, because if this is his mind sending him messages or secret ways to escape. He’s fired up, remembering the date when he didn’t even think he heard it. This was going well.

It was.

“It doesn’t. Not really. You’re just trying to distract yourself because it’s been a week.” 

Peter looks up when he hears that, and suddenly, she disappears. And he’s left, listening to himself breathe while glaring at the spot she was standing on just seconds ago.

He can’t control it. He yells in anger, nearly shaking the chair in the process.

Three days on a chair. And probably more to come. Maybe forever, which by the looks of it won’t be long.

He takes in the silence and then sighs. “May.” He says, and already he is tearing up. “Come back.”

She’s not real. He knows she’s not. But he needs to see her, because even fake, it’s the only source of proper conversation he’s had.

Even when she was here, she wasn’t. Not really. She was scared. And she cried a lot. This was May, his aunt who sometimes kept him on call during all hours of his patrol on days she was worried. May who was up waiting for him to come home or sometimes passed out on the sofa when or if he was late.

This was May, who didn’t deserve what happened to her. Not one bit. 

Which is why he needs her now. Even if she’s not real, because then maybe the last memory they have of each other, however vague, will be one that doesn’t make him cry. One that doesn’t hurt his heart.

But she doesn’t appear, and then his last memory of her is one that he doesn’t want to remember. He can’t change what happened, and it’s silly to think he can. 

And now he can’t stop the tears from coming. No one is looking for him, and he’s just sitting here crying. That’s no way to escape. That’s no way to do anything.

May told him not to worry. That they’d be fine, and that he would get out. That they would get out. 

She lied. She-

“We will be fine. We’ll go home after this.” 

She’s back. And he sniffles, his eyes bloodshot. “Yeah.” He agrees, but it’s barely audible. He doesn’t even think he made a sound.

“We will. I’m here for you.”

He looks back at her. She’s smiling again. But a sad kind of smile. She’s pitying him. 

“No you’re not. We won’t go home, and I’m going insane. I’m-“ he exhales sharply, “-going insane.”

She purses her lips and comes closer. That’s a first. And then she crouches down in front of him. And she does it. She touches both his hands. What the hell. 

What the hell?

“I’m here, see?”

He can’t shake his head. She is here. How else is she touching him?

“You’re tired. Right?”

He nods.

“Come with me.”

This is taking a bad turn. Did his own hallucination just tell him to fall asleep and die? Is it even a hallucination?

“You can hold things.”

“I can hold you.”

“No. No, get me out. Find something and-“ he can’t finish his sentence, because he’s shaking now. 

She sighs, “I can’t. Peter-“

“What are you doing?” He asks, betrayal in his tone. “What are you doing?” Now it’s louder and pained, and he’s lost half of his energy just saying it.

“Im trying to help.” She answers, and it’s so genuine that he can’t bring himself to question her. She would never tell him anything that could hurt him. So this can’t hurt him. 

“How?”

“Have I ever hurt you?” 

She hasn’t. That makes this so much harder. He needs her to leave, before she tricks him into doing something bad.

“I think you should go.”

“But I need to help you. I told you we’d be fine.” She says.

He keeps yawning. His eyes are watering and he just can’t stop yawning. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not. I’m here to help.”

“You said that. You already-“ he sniffles and lets out a cry.

She doesn’t reply. So he looks up, and she’s gone. She’ll be back, he thinks. But for now, she’s gone. Gone so that she can’t lie to him anymore.

He tries not to blame her for saying all those things, but he can’t stop himself. She kept saying they’d get out, and then she died. It isn’t fair. You can’t just do that.

But he’s only a child. Even if he’s a strong one, he’s a child. One who believed his aunt when she told him they’d be fine even if he knew better, because that was what he needed, and she knew that. 

Now that she’s gone, there is no one left who can lie to him, or give him hope.

That’s worse.

It’s worse. His thoughts are no where near as optimistic as May’s were. She was protecting him. She always protected him. But now she’s gone, and that is why he needs to know that someone is looking for him. 

Someone wants to save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just started watching Grey’s Anatomy so that’s where the hallucinations idea came from (season 5 because that was just so, so sad?!) I don’t know if it was all accurate or not but it’s a try? I’ll also try write in more of the other characters, they’ll be in a lot later on though.
> 
> Tell me what you liked or didn’t like - the reviews were very sweet, thank you!


	3. He’s Trying

“It’s been days. Try harder.” Tony replies into the comms, throwing on his cap and shutting the motel door behind him.

There’s a sigh on the other end, “it’s been six days, Tony.” 

He doesn’t say it, but Tony knows what he means. It’s been six days, so the adds of finding one kid and his aunt are slim. Not to mention they’re not missing, they were taken, most likely. Otherwise, May would be home. She’s not. Their home’s a mess and there was a struggle.

Tony just shakes his head, “do you want out?” He asks, knowing what the answer will be. And right now, he needs that answer to keep him quiet for now. 

Rhodey replies immediately, “no! That’s not what I’m saying-“

“Then what are you saying? Because that’s what it sounds like.”

“I’m saying that we need to be realistic.” There’s a pause, “Look, I’m with you as long as you need, but…”

Tony stops walking and clenches his fists, “then just listen to me. Just listen to me when I’m saying that they’re out there and we just need to find them.” He says, without realising that he has stopped in the carpark while making vague hand gestures as if Rhodey is actually here, standing in front of him.

“If HYDRA is involved, he may not even be in the country.” Vision adds suddenly.

“That was hardly a-a find. HYDRA’s not involved.”

“Then?” Rhodey asks.

“Maybe someone figured out who he was or - you know what, I don’t care. I don’t care! I care about finding him. Is that so bad?”

“I didn’t say it was. We’re all in, Tony.” Rhodey assures him. “Just keep us updated, wherever you are.”

Tony just nods, even though no one can see. “We’re all keeping each other updated. But I’m going offline, catch you later.” He turns off his comm before there is another disagreement.

He gets to the edge of the empty road and presses down on the bracelet on his wrist. Just within that second, his armour envelopes him and he takes off.

His next stop is Elizabeth.

An in ten minutes, he’s there. Peter wasn’t in Staten Island, and if it took him a day to just figure that out, how long would it take him to search the rest of the places he had listed? 

At least this time he has a lead. A photo uploaded just a few hours earlier shows the number plate of a van that was parked outside the Parkers’ apartment. It can’t be a coincidence.

Well.

It can, but it won’t be. It can’t be, because he has nothing else to go on.

FRIDAY traces the van in a heartbeat, and Tony ends up staring at the half-burnt vehicle in anger as soon as he lands. Where does he go now?

 

Vision mutters a thanks to the shopkeeper who is staring at him in surprise. He doesn’t look like everyone else. That’s not a bad thing, Tony’s told him before, because he’s a good ‘person’.

“This is tiring.” He says into the comms. Not that he knows what it is to be tired, but he’s heard people say it enough times in difficult situations.

“Second that.” Rhodey says back. Then he speaks again after a few seconds of awkward silence, “What do you think? You think he’s alive?”

Vision hesitates. “The chance that he’ll be found alive by any one of us is less than twenty-percent.” 

Rhodey doesn’t reply, and Vision senses that he’s said something wrong. Except, he hasn’t. “But this is an exceptional case. It involves, possibly, HYDRA, the fact that Peter has superpowers and we know this isn’t a normal abduction.” He explains.

“I know you’re trying, but it doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Then Vision turns off his own comm, turning around and taking a seat at the coffee table. 

“I’m surprised you found me.”

Vision nods, “you’re not difficult to track.”

She stares at him incredulously. “Oh, thanks for that. But I’m working. And you don’t exactly blend into the crowd, if anyone sees you here, my cover is blown.”

“Natasha. This is important.”

“So is me staying alive and undercover. And you’re not helping.” She says as she stands up, ready to leave.

“It’s Peter.” Vision says, and she stops. “Peter Park-“

“I know who Peter is.” She interrupts. “What happened to him? Is he okay?”

“He went missing a week ago.”

She gives it a thought before talking, “he’s a teenager with superpowers. He’s probably swinging off buildings in another city. I’ve been AWOL for longer.” 

“You’re double his age, and his aunt is also missing.” 

Right, he lives with his aunt. 

“I’ve been following up on leads. Red Skull-“

“Is dead.” Natasha says obviously, shaking her head. “You know that.”

“His followers aren’t.”

She sighs. “When did he go missing?”

“A week ago. We found out yesterday.”

“They could be anywhere.” She says, leaning forwards as her eyes widen. “It took you a week?”

“He doesn’t live in the Facility, he’s not easy to keep track of.”

She scoffs, “and I am? And were you even trying to keep track? If you were trying-“

“It’s Christmas. It didn’t seem unusual that he didn’t go out for a few days.” Vision interrupts, even though he isn’t the one supposed to be keeping track. That’s on Happy and Tony. 

He waits a second, watching her frown and contemplate what to do. “If you’re busy-“

“I’m not. I’m not, I’m in.”

He’s a little too young to be missing. Of course she’s in. She looks up again and sighs, “is-does anyone else know? I mean the others.”

“Tony and Rhodes know. And we know.”

She frowns, “that’s it?”

“No one else is home right now.” Vision replies, a little sadness in his tone.

She hums, “no one?”

“You’re here. Steve’s-he’s somewhere. Sam is coming tomorrow though.”

There’s a scoff this time, “we should be together.”

“We should.” Vision agrees, because he’s been saying this the whole time. “I haven’t told them I’m meeting with you. Are you sure-“

“I am. I’ll help, besides I know about all of this than anyone.” She shakes her head, “well, other than Steve.”

* * *

He doesn’t know why he’s here still. He hasn’t told her anything useful, so she’ll probably kill him. The fact that he’s only fifteen doesn’t seem to matter much to her. 

He doesn’t realise he’s crying, and Keres crouches down in front of him. “Miss May would’ve known. I should’ve done this the other way around.” She thinks out loud, and Peter can’t stand to listen to her talk about his aunt like that. She’s saying all these horrible things, and doing all these horrible things, yet no one is here to stop her.

“I don’t know.” He tries to say, but it comes out scratchy and as a whisper that he isn’t sure she hears.

She shakes him by the shoulder, “I’m running out of patience, Parker.” She says, not trying too hard to mask the anger and irritation that has manifested in the past few minutes.

When he doesn’t answer, she nods at someone behind him, and then he’s being doused in freezing cold water. He yells involuntarily and then gasps for air as soon as it happens.

It’s cold in here. It’s December, so it’s cold everywhere. Freezing. While there are no windows or cracks in the shoddy building, it is still cold. And now, he’s colder. Because the water is making his clothes stick to him, and everything is just wet. Freezing and wet. And he is trembling.

“What a shame.” She says quietly, almost disappointed. Then she gets up. 

She has a gun in her hand now. 

He can’t remember if she had it before, he doesn’t think so. She doesn’t seem to be planning to use it either, because she’s holding it wrong. 

“Next time I come back and I don’t get answers, this won’t go as nicely for you.” She says threateningly, and without another warming, she whips the butt of her weapon towards against his head.

He inhales sharply, and this time, everything just turns upside down.. His vision is already blurring, and soon, he’s gone. Unconscious.

* * *

When he wakes up again, for a second he forgets where he is. 

But the cold doesn’t let him.

When he wakes up again, his head is killing him, like something sharp is digging into his temple, and the pain intensifies when he does as little as squint. 

So he tries not to move his head. Or anything else.

Now he’s definitely lost track of a time, and he doesn’t know what’s happened in the time he’s been out, but the inside of both his elbows hurt. He can’t see what’s causing it, because his hoodie, which is still very damp, is covering both arms. 

After a few minutes, he lets out a suppressed cry, clenching his jaw so tight that he hears a small chipping noise between his teeth. The pain in his head is radiating.

All he can do is scrunch his hands up into fists and pull against the restraints, fidgeting and breathing rapidly. 

“That doesn’t look good.” A voice says, and Peter looks up in fear, because he didn’t even hear anyone come up. And it’s pretty hard to miss a hundred-year-old rusty door opening. 

You’re losing it.

He sees duplicates. Of her and the people behind her. She’s walking closer, but he’s blinking, very fast, to try and see. He needs to at least be able to see, because there isn’t a lot he can do, including hear, clearly.

Maybe she’s here to let him go. His mind is barely functioning, and she has to know that.

“Peter, just save yourself from-“ she circles her hands in the air vaguely, and even that is enough to nearly make him sick. “It was a tiny, silver briefcase.” She says, “and your parents took it. Took valuable things.”

As much as wants to say he knows what she’s talking about, he doesn’t. He has no idea. “I don’t - I - “ that’s all he can say, because he can’t get any more words out. 

“Use your words, kiddo.”

He wants to. He’s trying to. 

He’s weak now. He wants to go home. 

She shakes her head, and then thumps two fingers against his skull , “or your brain.” 

It hurts way more than it should - the pain is almost unbearable, making his head pulse. He’d give anything to sleep right now. 

“You’re the only person who would know.”

But he doesn’t. 

He barely notices her leaving.

But then the lights go out. And it’s completely dark. Just black. His eyes search the room for light. Any light. Anything that will make this less unnerving. But he doesn’t see anything.

“No.” He whispers to himself, because he’s starting to panic again. 

He’s going to die. This is it, because his heart isn’t just beating too fast now, it’s panicking. It’s hurting him. It’s physically hurting him.

His chest feels too tight. 

They might not come back this time. They could just leave him in here and never think about him again.

He hunches forwards on the chair and tries to just breathe, because he still isn’t getting enough air in. 

May would know what to do. She would know what to say, and he needs her now. Even as a hallucination, he needs her. 

And that is because the only thing he can hear right now is himself. His own gasps, which are not comforting at all. No, they’re just showing him how alone he is. 

Now he has started rocking, back and forth, as much as he can strapped to a chair. Not that it’s-

“Stop. Stop and breathe.” A voice tells him, and he opens his eyes that he has so tightly squeezed shut. It’s still too dark, but he can clearly see the figure staring back. And it’s not who he expects. 

In fact, it’s so unexpected that he can’t even bring himself to say anything.

“You panicked a lot when you were younger. When Richard and-“, there’s a sudden pause. “I’d hug you really tight. So tight.”

And now Peter has stopped shaking and rocking like a crazy person. Instead, he’s about to start crying now. His breath hitches, and he unconsciously moves forwards to reach out to the figure. But he can’t.

“Oh, Peter.” 

“Ben.” He manages to say, because any more words will be too much for him. There are too many emotions right now.

Ben smiles sympathetically, walking forwards and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, which Peter buries his face into. 

“You’d always stop. Sometimes it’d take a while, but I always had you. Nothing a hug can’t solve.”

That makes Peter laugh, but it’s humourless. He moves back against the chair and stares up, not that he can see anything.

And then the laugh turns into a cry. 

“I’m going crazy. It’s completely dark in here and I’m going crazy.” He says, nothing masking the fear in his voice.

“Peter-“

“I should be trying to run or - or - but I’m here seeing dead people-“

Ben crouches down and tilts his head, “you can’t think like this. We’re-“

“-and-and having a psychotic break-“

Ben shakes him, “snap out of it.”

Peter stares at him incredulously, “snap out of it? My hallucination is telling me to snap out of it. That’s-“ 

“Peter.”

“What?” Peter snaps, frowning at Ben. Or the painful memory of him. 

Then his eyes widen. “Am I - I’m dead, aren’t I?” He asks, but it comes out like a statement. “That’s what I’m seeing you both.”

Ben shakes his head, “no. No, you’re not. You’re smarter than this.”

No he isn’t. He isn’t smarter. If he was smarter he wouldn’t be here. If he was smarter, he would have found a way out by now.

He isn’t smarter.

The cries are back, and they’re loud. 

In fact, he’s never cried this loud before. It sounds horrifying even to him. But crying isn’t a bad thing. 

Sometimes you need to cry, Peter. May’s voice rings in his ears.

“Peter!” Ben yells, shaking him by the shoulder. 

Peter listens, because he has nothing else to do. And this is his best shot. Ben can help.

Ben can help? Seriously? Ben’s dead. 

He shakes his head at his own delusions and then looks up, sniffling at Ben.

“You were always a fidgety child.” Ben states.

Peter’s eyes narrow, “stop. Stop saying that.” He demands, because then he can’t help but think that this illusion from his mind is actually not an illusion at all. He’s sounding more and more like Ben, and the rational part of his mind is no longer telling him that the only reason for that is because Peter already knew all this stuff. 

“I know you feel terrible. These powers-“ Ben shakes his head in disapproval, “-they did more bad than good. Look at me. Look at May.”

Peter breaks eye contact at that, taking in a big breath and avoiding the figure invading his mind.

“May wasn’t my fault.” He says, but his voice is quiet and betraying. But it wasn’t his fault. This had nothing to do with his powers, and he needs so say it out loud so that he believes it.

“Really?” Ben questions. And then Peter starts to wonder. Or starts to think of ways that it is. He’s already half convinced of it.

“I died.” Ben points out, and Peter looks down. It doesn’t matter where he looks though, because Ben is the only thing he can see. Everything else is black. 

“And fine. But May? You had these powers, and you-you were still too weak.”

Ben would never say that. 

But Peter has done terrible things. He got them both killed. How can he know what Ben would say?

“They were stro-“

“You were weak. You were weak when you ran away that night. Weak when I died, and weak when they killed your Aunt, Peter.” Ben’s voice has risen steadily, leaving Peter biting his lip and staring down, ashamed and crying. 

“I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.” Ben scoffs.

Why is he like this? May was so nice. So why is Ben like this? 

“You take good care of him.” Another voice says, and Peter looks up to see that Ben is gone. Replaced with nothing.

Now. 

Now there are two people standing far down the room. 

Two people he almost doesn’t recognise until they turn and start walking towards him. 

“My baby. You be good, we’ll be back.”

They look like they look in their pictures. Wearing similar clothes, carrying the same smiles. Mom. Mom and Dad.

“Call me mama one more time.” His mother is saying, directed at him, and he’s confused, because she’s not seeing what he’s seeing.

Then his father smiles, “he can call you mama when you come back.” He says, looking down at him as they walk.

Then his mother cocks her head, her face changing from happiness to confusion. “Peter.”

He can’t. He can’t reply. They’re not real. 

“My little genius.” His dad says.

His mother frowns, “he’s not your little genius if he hasn’t figured out how to get out of those yet.” Her voice is cheerful. “Get out and show us.” She smiles.

“Where did you go?” He asks, because he can’t help it.

His parents laugh and shake their heads like he’s asking something stupid. “We’re right here, silly.”

“You left. You left and you didn’t come back.” He shouldn’t be talking. They can’t answer that question, and yet he just has to ask. 

But they’re not even paying attention. “Mer, we’re getting late.” 

Mary’s eyebrow raise in surprise, “oh. Honey you be good.” She says, leaning in to kiss him on his forehead.

“No. Don’t leave.” His voice cracks

She just brushes it off, “every time. Makes my heart break everytime.”

Then she disappears too.

And it’s just him now.

He waits for a few minutes for the next one, but it doesn’t come. And maybe hallucinations were better, because being alone in a pitch-black room is definitely worse.

It scares him. Not knowing what is out there, or what could be out there. His senses aren’t helpful. They’re all over the place - he wouldn’t know real danger if it was staring him in the face right now.

And now that he is finally alone, he realises how hungry he is. How thirsty he has gotten from yelling at the air. 

His fingers feel cold. If he could see them right now, they’d probably be blue. Or maybe he’s exaggerating. There’s no way to know, but his bones feel like they’re slowly freezing in place.

And his back is starting to hurt too, screaming at him to just get up and move.

“Well. Interesting question.” 

Peter lifts his head and stares ahead at the tall, bald man smiling back at him. 

“I mean, a few days of not moving at all. And I mean that. You don’t move at all, you sit down for twenty-four hours a day for a whole week. And in a few days, a disc in your spine would probably be compressed. It’s very, very painful, I don’t recommend trying it.” He laughs.

Mr Milan. And Ned asked that question. Ned asked what would happen if he sat down and never got up.

“Of course, you’d have to get up. I don’t need to tell you what happens afterwards. You’d turn into mush. You wouldn’t last a day, Leeds.” He smiles.

That’s where your pain is coming from. 

It’s fine.

“I’d get up if I were you, Parker.” His teacher says before he also vanishes into thin air. Before Peter can say anything.

He can’t get up, but he twists and turns his neck, listening to the small cracks resulting from the stiffness. It’s the best he can do for now.

Anyone can be behind him. Ready to take him out. He wouldn’t even notice. Maybe they are. Maybe they’re watching him through cameras or wearing goggles. Waiting for him to go completely insane.

He can’t make a fist anymore. His fingers are too numb. Numb and cold. But strangely, he has stopped shivering. And that’s a bad thing - that much he knows.

They won’t just leave him in here, right? 

They won’t. 

You’ll be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the awesome reviews! And Also, feel free to share any ideas you have about this story with me!


	4. It’s Dark

Natasha looks as Tony walks towards her. Rhodey is already by her side.

“You’re kidding me.”

Rhodey sighs, “Tony-“

“Vision told me.” Natasha clarifies, “I’m here to help.”

Tony purses his lips. “How have you been?”

“You really wanna know?” Natasha smirks, and Tony gives a short, humourless laugh. 

“Tell me you have something.” He says, his expression changing quickly to worry and despair.

She nods, “Twenty-three building, all purchased by people who don’t exist, and all who have…well, they-“ she stops. She doesn’t stammer. “Steve was-“

“You told Steve?” 

Rhodey pinches the bridge of his nose and moves back. “And I thought it couldn’t get messier.”

“You fought together. You’re friends.” She says, judgement in her tone.

Tony scoffs, “He’s been gone since the-“ he looks the other way and closes his eyes. “You know-where is he? What was so urgent and important that he couldn’t tell any of us before taking off? Because Thanos is gone - he’s gone, and so is Steve.”

Natasha sighed, “well, you didn’t let me finish. I didn’t tell anyone anything. I haven’t seen him. But we did a mission together before all of this, that’s how I know how they got the buildings and where they operate.”

Rhodey nodded, “so you think they’re both in one of them?”

“Any abandoned old place can be a hideout. I know the locations of some of the ones that we monitored but never took down. It’s your best shot.”

Tony looks down and then at her, “and if he’s not there?”

“It’s your best shot.” She repeats, “It’s where lower operations take place.”

Tony shakes his head, “and what if it’s not a lower operation? What if it’s—“

“Then you and I both know you won’t be able to find him anytime soon.” Or alive.

His heart skips a beat, because this is too much. They barely made it out alive months ago - this couldn’t seriously be happening.  


* * *

It’s been dark for too long. He doesn’t think it should be much of an issue until it is. It is, because it’s too silent.

Too dark and too silent.

And he still can’t get over how cold it is. 

Maybe he should go to sleep. 

Yeah, that would be a good way to pass time. He needs to pass time, because the thought that he’ll just be left in here until he dies is one that is eating away at him.

He waits. Just leans back against the chair and waits. Someone will be back soon. They’re just trying to hurt him, or get him to talk.

Would he? Talk? He doesn’t know anything, but if he did, he would’ve told them, he guesses. Of course he would’ve, he wouldn’t let his aunt die over something like this. 

They’ll be back.

But soon enough, hours have gone by. And while Peter can’t tell the difference, his mind is starting to wander in places he knows it shouldn’t.

What if no one’s looking for him? It’s the holidays, after all, and he isn’t anything special. Not enough for people to know he’s gone and go out and search for.

The only person who would do that is May. 

May is dead.

Then his thoughts are disrupted when he hears the door open. It’s still too dark though, he can’t see it. 

He breathes quietly, waiting for the lights to come on. But they never do. 

“Did you remember anything?” 

Now his breathing is fast. “No.” He says, listening to footsteps coming closer. 

She hums in response, “do you wanna end up like your dead aunt?”

He doesn’t say anything. His eyes are hurting, pleading him to just sleep.

“Is it scary in here? All by yourself, all in the dark?”

Answering her in the dark makes it so much more difficult. Like she’s planning to do something awful and he can’t even see it.

And her accent. Her accent...he doesn’t like it. It makes her sound nicer than she is. It’s welcoming and all the other things that she’s not.

“Peter.” She says, and he suddenly feels a hand brush over his hair, which is enough to frighten him.

Make him jump.

He sniffles, closing his eyes and feeling the wetness around his eyes.

“I am failing because of you. There are people who will be interested in your powers.”

Her accent seems thicker today. Maybe it’s not even the same person - he can’t tell.

His breathing is so shallow that he doesn’t understand how he’s still conscious. Everything hurts, and he’s scared. He’s scared out of his mind, and his senses won’t leave him alone. 

“Trus’ me, they won’ be as nice.”

He can’t imagine being stuck somewhere worse than he is right now. 

She’s not nice.

Then he feels her hands holding his. And it feels nice. He hates that it does, but it does. He’s starved of affection.

“Maybe.”

She starts pushing his hand up. He can see where it’s going, but he doesn’t even have enough power to move his fingers let alone his hand. 

“A li’l push.” She says quietly, and his wrist is pushed up against the restraints, the Vibranium edges digging into his hand.

“Wait—“ he chokes back a gasp and can’t continue with his sentence. She doesn’t stop.

He screams.

Screams when he hears the crack, and keeps on doing so brokenly when she doesn’t let go. In fact, he can’t stop screaming.

His hand feels it’s been smashed into pieces, and he’s crying; glad he can’t see it, because he’s sure it would only make him cry harder. Maybe it’s bleeding - probably not. But it would look ugly.

“Such determination. To protec’ some’ing that isn’ even yours”. He hears her say. He can almost see the eye roll.

But he’s focused on his pain now. His wrist feels like it’s burning. He can’t bare to move it even slightly. 

“I would tell you if I—“ he hunches forwards with a gasp and closes his eyes, sniffling and trying to calm himself, but the pain is killing him.

“I don’ know wha’ to do wi’you.” She starts to mutter, and he clenches his jaw when she grabs his head and he feels her nails digging into the back of his neck. Then he feels a strong, painful prick.

And he’s out.  


* * *

His eyes open with a flutter.

It feels strange. Strange good. He’s not hurting, he can move, and he’s not cold.

He hears a dragged breath to his right and turns around. 

It’s him. He comes into view. Him sitting on the chair, looking forwards with a scared look on his face. 

Did he just die?

He sees himself staring down, clenching his jaw and rocking slightly, his eyes tightly shut.

The only thing he sees when he looks up to whatever is scaring him is the tip of something black. Maybe a gun. Then the sound- the gunsh—

He screams awake, looking down at his chest to see where the non-existent pain is coming from. Did he just—he just got—oh but he can’t even see; can’t move his arms. 

It was a dream. Just a dream where he could see. Where he possibly died.

He’s alone again. 

Well, he was always alone. But he feels different now. A tide of hopelessness is washing over him.

Drowning him. 

All the ridiculous stories he made up of how he would get rescued are now just that. Stories. 

And the idea of someone waiting to capture the bad guys and then tell him it was all a sting isn’t in reach either.

His eyes are starting to water, and for the first time, it’s not because he’s upset. He just needs to sleep. But his senses don’t let him, screaming at him that he’s in danger, even though he knows. 

He knows.

His hunger is also starting to die down with the thirst. That, he knows, isn’t a good thing. It means he’s spent too long in here.

Then he hears the doors open again. But there is barely any light, only enough to make out a shadowy figure walking towards him.

He squints, sniffling when the person stops.

Then it happens.

One second, he’s looking up, and the next, there’s a sound that lasts half a second, and a pain that follows with full force.

Makes his breath stop.

And when he is breathing again, it’s hard. Hard to just drag in air. He looks up, and nothing is how it should be. 

He’s seeing colours.

Colours that he shouldn’t be seeing.

It’s his chest. It’s—oh.

“Try the east coast, and check up on him in five minutes. He’s dying anyway, what’s he got to lose by telling the truth.” 

It’s a man. 

“Do you, Peter? Know anything?”

“No. No.” He shakes his head, his working hand shaking involuntarily. 

“Okay.” Now that’s voice he recognises.

Then the man leaves. 

“Sorry.” 

Peter’s face scrunches up, and he starts to cry quietly. They just shot him. He’s going to die in here, he’s really going to just die.

“You know wha’ the name Keres means?” She asks, even though he’s hunched forwards having the breakdown of his life. 

He couldn’t care less about her name. Who cares? Who honestly cares? He doesn’t.

“I would’ve le’you go.” She says, as if it’s supposed to offer him comfort, and then bends down in front of him. He can barely make her out.

She placed her hand on his broken wrist softly. “Soon, you won’ feel the pain.” She tells him, “won’ have trouble breathing.”

That sounds scary. He doesn’t want that to happen, that’s what happens when you’re...he doesn’t want that.

“It’s scary now.” 

She read his mind.

“But soon you’ll be—“

“Keres.” 

Peter lets out an involuntary cry. There’s a lot of pain, it’s hard to keep it all in now.

“Yes?”

“We gotta go, come on.”

She looks back at Peter, “I am supposed—“

“We got made. Other hideouts got raided.”

“And him?” 

“What about him? He’s gonna die either way, come on.”

“You go. I will catch up.”

The other person sighs. “We’ll be waiting.”

Then she turns back around.

“I didn’ wan’ you to die.” She says sadly. 

That sounds like a lame lie. She was going on about it every time she came in here.

“Help—help me then.” Peter says.

She shakes her head, “that’s no’ how it works.”

They’re leaving him here to just...

He wants to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reviews were lovely, thank you! The next chapter will be the rescue!


	5. Breathe

When Tony kicks down the door, the one person he isn’t expecting to find is Peter. 

All he’s done for the past two weeks is kick down doors and then end up getting his hopes shattered to find that he’s not there.

But he keeps walking. He’ll find something. He always does, even if it’s not Peter. But it’ll be something.

He checks all the empty rooms, and sure enough, there is no Peter. He keeps going. The properties are big.

Then there is a scuffle right at the end of the never ending corridor. He looks up and gets his repulsors ready. 

A woman steps out. She’s well dressed. And she looks at him carefully before taking a big sigh of relief and running towards him.

“I don’t—oh I am so—“, she stops running midway and is about to have a breakdown. She has an accent.

“Who are you?” Tony asks. He has to be cautious. Even if she doesn’t look exactly like a threat.

“Amelia.”

He looks around, “why are you here?”

She nods, “I don’t know, someone-“ she stops and shakes in fear before talking again. “-these people took me and I just-I am from Switzerland.“ she puts a hand on her forehead and takes a few shallow breaths. “I am. I’m twenty-five, I have parents and—“ she shakes and is about to start crying.

“Were you alone?” Tony keeps his palms pointed at her. 

“I think they’re keeping someone right at the end.” She says, sniffling, “you’re here to save us, right? Can you take me home?”

Tony’s ignored the second half of her sentence, “who? Who do they have?”

“I don’t know. A boy. I’m not sure.” 

He squints, “what about a woman? Might be his aunt - short, brown hair, wears glasses?” Tony asks warily.

“I don’t know, I don’t think I saw anyone else.”

“How did you get out?” He asks impatiently.

She looks scared. “They started talking about how they were being tracked or made and had to go. They just took off. But he was hurt so he couldn’t move and I—I was just scared, I should’ve helped, I know.”

Tony listens and frowns, “where’s the boy?” He asks.

“That room.” She turns and points down the dark corridor, and that’s enough for Tony to start walking, then power-walking, and then sprinting towards those huge worn-out doors. 

“Can I come with you? Should I?” She asks as he passes her.

“No!” He shouts back, “stay here. Helps’s coming!” 

His suit clanks loudly until he gets to the doors. They’re old, and he pushes and blasts them open. 

It’s completely dark.

It doesn’t take him long to find the chair, which is placed right in the middle of the room. He can also see who he has to believe is Peter, sitting on the chair, breathing unevenly.

“Peter?” He asks, and then he starts walking, quickly glancing around to make sure no one else is there. 

“FRIDAY, the lights.” 

He is told there is a switch to his left, so he does that first, and it doesn’t make much of a difference. The light is dim, flickering and small. Then he looks back, begrudgingly, to the person on the chair. 

His heart shatters, because it is Peter. It’s who he’s been looking for, despite being told not to. To give up.

“Peter.” He says, now that he’s sure. But Peter isn’t answering, as if he can’t hear him call his name. 

He looks dead. He looks—and he won’t answer, and Tony needs him to do that - because the cut on his head, which has bled down the side of his neck and is showing visibly even in this light, makes him look dead.

Then—blood. A lot of blood pooling around on the floor next to Peter’s chair. He looks back up at Peter, just now noticing the crimson stain on his already dark blue shirt.

That’s too much blood. He’s probably—

“Come on, buddy.” Tony says, snapping out of his thoughts, because his thoughts aren’t important right now - the boy sitting in front of him is. He crouches down and puts his hands on top of Peter’s, trying to get him to open his eyes.

It doesn’t work. So he slowly pushes Peter back by placing a cautious hand on his collarbone. 

And as soon as he moves Peter back a little, he opens his eyes with a pained gasp. That scares Tony, so he stops, keeping him where he is. 

Then Peter looks up and squints as if he’s staring at the sun. But the lights are dim; so dim. Tony can hardly see him, so how long has Peter been in the dark?

He looks horrible. His eyes are bloodshot and pupils pinpointed, and he’s crying, or has been crying. His hair is greasy and his face pale. So, so pale. His breaths are uneven and slow, like wheezes. 

And he looks lost. 

“I can—I can—I need—I need h—help.” He mutters, and there are so many breaks in his voice that Tony just about makes out what he said.

Tony can’t talk for a good few seconds. He just stares with his mouth open. He hasn’t prepared for this.

“Shit.” He whispers, because he can’t imagine being in that much pain and being so young. He wasn’t expecting this. “I’m here. To help.” He finally says, louder so that Peter hears him.

And it’s only then that Tony notices the horrible bruise on Peter’s right wrist. His hand looks dead. 

“I’m—I’ll help. You just look at me and—and everything will be fine.” Tony says again, his mind racing. What is he supposed to do now?

He should tell them. He needs someone to come and help. He turns on his comm.

“I f-I found-“ he can’t talk. He runs a hand over his mouth, “I found him. Get here and bring—“

“I got it.” Rhodey cuts him off, “is he alive?”

“He’s—barely—he—we’re underground. Just find us.“

“We’re on our way. I can’t believe—“

Then the com cuts off. 

“Rhodey!” He half whispers angrily into his ear piece. He can’t be alone. He doesn’t know what to do. 

Then, after a static noise, Rhodey replies. “We’re on our way.” He repeats, and then he’s gone again.

Tony looks back at Peter, who he is still holding up. He stares. Opens his face plate.

“What did they do? Did they shoot you?” Tony asks, frowning and trying to keep the sound of his own heart thudding against-his chest out.

Peter nods and then starts to cry again. “I don’t—“ and he’s wheezing.

“I’ll help.” Tony says when Peter can’t speak.

But that only makes Peter cry harder, because Tony doesn’t know how many times Peter has heard that line in the last few days.

Tony is equally confused and pained. He’s not doing anything right, judging by the look on Peter’s face.

“Pressure.” He mumbles to himself, slowly leaning Peter back as he sobs and then opening his suit. He takes his shirt and rips at the sleeves until he has a long strip.

Then he looks back at Peter; moves him forwards. Peter groans and Tony wraps the strip around him once, tightening it once he’s scrunched up the rest right in front of the injury. 

“Stop.” Peter says inaudibly, “stop—“

Then he screams, and Tony has to try his hardest not to listen to that or what he’s saying; try and ignore his right hand, which is now very weakly pulling at the restraints. 

Neither of them want this. Definitely not Tony.

Tony breathes shakily, “it’s helping you.” He says, focused on stopping the bleeding. “It’s help—“ but he can’t talk, Peter is still strapped, panicking and crying. Very loudly and painfully. And he should.

“Peter.” He stops, looking up at him and trying to get him to calm down, because Peter’s frenzied state is making it that much harder to concentrate and help and not have a breakdown himself.

“Come on, kiddo.” He tries again, scrunching his face up, and Peter actually looks up this time, his eyes filled with tears. Heartbreaking.

Tony moves forwards and pulls Peter gently towards him while he cries, feeling his face getting buried in his own shoulder.

“I found you now.” Tony whispers while Peter sobs, 

“My—my chest.” Peter whispers, pulling back like he’s confused, and that strikes a chord. “You—“

“I’m here.” Tony says, but it’s not enough, because Peter is starting to panic. “Listen to me. I’m getting you out, and we’re—we’re taking you back home.”

Peter isn’t even looking at him anymore. His eyes are searching the rest of the room. Panicking.

Tony looks down at the cuffs, and grimaces, looking around the room for something to help him, because it’s Vibranium. Peter wouldn’t have been able to get out by himself. 

So he cuts around it, using the laser in his suit, because he can cut the chair. The chair isn’t Vibranium. They can take the cuffs off later - right now all he needs to do is get Peter out.

“I got a heli—“ Tony freezes when he looks back up and sees Peter glaring and sniffling

A long cut going from his jaw to his neck is showing now. He’s seen Peter heal from worse, which just upsets him more.

“Peter.” Tony disrupts, snapping his fingers right in front of Peter’s face so that he blinks quickly and looks back at Tony. 

Then he also realises that Peter hasn’t moved his arms - no, they’ve just dropped to his side. “Move your arms for me.” He says.

It’s a stupid ask. Of course he can’t, he’s been here for over a week, and while he doesn’t know what the consequences of sitting in one place for too long are, they can’t be good. 

Peter looks down at his hands, but he can barely move them. Then, suddenly, he’s seeing double. Double of his arms, and then double of Tony. He can hear himself gasp all too clearly, and then everything is moving in slow-motion.

Tony calls Peter’s name over and over, quickly holding him up when his eyes close and he falls forwards. 

And suddenly, Tony is the one having the serene moment, because it’s just him and Peter now.

And Peter is only half-alive. 

He freezes.

Freezes at a time where he can’t do that, because he’s the only adult in here. He’s the only anyone in here, which means Peter is counting on him. So he has to get it together. 

He snaps out of it only when someone talks into the comms. Then he looks at his hand, which is the only thing keeping Peter from completely falling forwards.

“What?” He mutters, gently pushing back Peter against the chair and checking his pulse, because it’s getting harder to breathe for Peter.

“They’re five minutes out, I said.” It’s Rhodey. Five minutes isn’t long. Peter has held out for this long, and even if he should not have had to, he has. 

Just five minutes.

There isn’t much Tony can do. So his attention shifts to what has happened to Peter. There is still water pooling around on the floor, and Peter’s clothes are very cold. Cold and damp. There are cuts on his face, and one of them looks particularly bad. 

All of this happened because no one could find him. Three of some of the smartest people in the country and they couldn’t find one single boy.

They were a team. The least they had to do was look out for each other. 

Maybe he should move Peter so that he’s more comfortable. Maybe-no. He could do more damage, he’s been shot or stabbed. 

But looking at him unconscious and probably moments from dying is killing him.

So he moves anyway. He stands up and takes hold of Peter, lifting him up from the chair as gently as he can, like he’s thin glass that will break as soon as he touches it. 

Then he finds himself sitting on the floor, his suit open from the front and Peter leaning against his chest, holding his hand. He’s cold; he needs warmth. 

And Peter is awake again. He can’t talk though, he’s gasping and wheezing. He looks half blue. Oh, what if he dies here? 

“Peter, don’t fall asleep.” Tony says quickly, his arms wrapped around the boy who is barely clinging onto life. 

Peter nods, but it gets lost in the shivering and gasping. He hasn’t been able to sleep in so long though, is it really so bad if he does? 

Yes, it is bad, because he knows what can happen if he does. But that part of his mind isn’t telling him to make rational decisions anymore. It’s telling him to do whatever he wants.

Tony notices. “I said don’t fall asleep.” He says again, his hands going through Peter’s hair. Peter’s grip on Tony’s hand tightens ever so slightly. “You haven’t even seen your room yet. You can’t—don’t die.” His voice cracks.

“Just don’t sleep.” He says for the third time 

His chin is resting on Peter’s hair now, and he’s keeping him as close as he can. They need this, even if the gasps he’s listening to and the unusually slow heartbeat he can feel is hurting his own heart. 

And that heartbeat and the uneven breathing is the only thing he is focused on right now. Listening carefully to make sure nothing goes wrong in the few minutes they have until help arrives.

Nothing can go wrong. Not with him here now, because that’ll mean he couldn’t anything even though he was right there. That can’t happen.

But it does. 

Peter’s hold loosens.

Suddenly, he doesn’t hear another breath after the last. But maybe he isn’t listening properly.

“Friday, vitals.“

“No pulse.”

Time freezes. This isn’t happening. The person in his arms is dead?

He’s dead.

And Tony can’t do anything about it, because his own hands are shaking, and he feels like he can’t move.

“I would recommend CPR.” Friday’s voice echoes in his ears.

Tony grimaces, “CPR? CP—where? Where? He’s bleeding!”

“Yeah, there they are!” Someone shouts from behind, and then within seconds, people are surrounding him, pulling at him.

“He needs—“

“They know what he needs.” Rhodey says, stepping front of him when he tries to go back. “Come on.”

“He’ll be alone, he needs—“

“You can’t do anything, and he’s not alone. He needs help and you’re not a doctor.” Natasha tells him, also stepping in front of him.

Both her and Rhodey look down at Tony’s bloody clothes and clench their jaws. 

Tony looks down at his own hands and nearly stumbles back. He’s not breathing.

“Tony!”

“I’ve got something.” One of the medics says.

He ignores Natasha, “Something? What does that mean? Is he alive? Is he-“

“Breathe.” Rhodey tells him, holding him back. He still tries to push through. 

“Are you a doctor?” Natasha asks again, raising her voice as she pulls him.

He sighs, “no, just let me—“

“No? Then stand down, Iron Man.” She says loudly, watching him move back. It was harsh, but he needed it. “I know this is difficult.” She adds.

“I don’t wanna hash out my emotions here.” Tony says, avoiding looking at any of them in the eyes, because he can feel tears ready to fall. “What I want, is to go to see if he’s okay. Now can you-“ he signals them to move and waits.

“You can’t.” Rhodey says, a look on his face that Tony hasn’t seen before. Which is strange considering how much time they’ve spent together. It’s Peter.

“I know it’s bad, but Rhodey, I can handle it.“ 

“They found May.” Rhodey tells him.

May. She wasn’t here. Well, he didn’t look.

“Where is she?” He asks, looking up to try and spot her. 

“No. She’s—she’s, uh, she’s—“

“She’d died before we got here.” Natasha speaks up, stoically, maybe because she never knew May all that well. Just knew she was Peter’s aunt.

She can’t be dead.

“Did you check properly?” Tony asks, frowning and looking back at Peter, who is about to be taken out of the room.

Natasha nods, “we checked. Sorry.”

“That can’t—you don’t—there’s two of them. There’s only two of them, and—and of them can’t be dead. Because then there’s one left, and—he’s just young. He can’t—“

“Stop. We’ll figure it out.” Rhodey assures him. 

They’ll figure it out.

But this is too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wouldn’t believe the number of times safari crashed trying to upload this.
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the long wait, I’ve been super busy! Thank you all for the lovely and amazing reviews keeping this story going! And leave anything you wanna see later on with the recovery and if I can, I’ll try write it in!
> 
> I hoped you like this chapter, it’s kinda different from how it played out in my head but that’s how it usually goes lol


	6. Awake

Peter takes in a big, wheezing breath when his eyes open. All he can see is white. Bright white lights, and faint murmuring in the background.

The only thing he can hear clearly is himself trying to breathe. But there’s something on his face that’s helping him do that, and it’s much easier than he last remembers.

He can’t move though.

They’re probably about to kill him. That’s why he can’t move. Yeah. And why he’s in so much pain.

And he’s cold.

He vaguely remembers someone talking to him. But that’s all it is - a vague fragment. Like trying to remember a dream after waking up. It can’t be done.

There are more faint murmurs in the back, and his eyes involuntarily search as far as they can for attention. He needs someone to help him.

But the pain is still there, and it’s growing, making it harder to breathe and move. 

It’s unfair. Unfair that he’s so weak that he can’t even move his fingers. He feels vulnerable - and they’re doing this to him. They’re hurting—

Familiar face.

“Peter.” Tony says quietly, and Peter barely makes it out. His vision is already starting to blur.

But Tony wouldn’t be here if he was still in trouble. Or maybe this is also an illusion. Either way, it makes him happy. And it’s the happiest he’s felt for as far back as he can remember.

Then Tony’s gone.

Where—

Something bright flashes into his eyes without much warning, and it makes him shut his eyes and choke a cry.

What the hell.  


* * *

Tony waits in the back of the room, looking around until he notices that Peter’s awake.

“Peter?” He asks, moving closer and looming over him. 

The doctors stop and turn around, following suit and all but pushing Tony outwards.

One of them takes out a pen and starts to shine it in Peter’s eyes, grimacing when Peter whimpers.

“He has heightened senses.” Tony adds quietly, looking closely at the examination and running hand over his face.

The doctor nods in response, then tries again. “Anaemic.” He notes, stepping back.

He doesn’t understand the rest of the stuff they start saying - it’s all too medical. If this was a computer, it’d be his thing, but it’s not. It’s a person. And he’s not a doctor.

“Okay, get ready.” Helen says, stepping in and taking Peter’s hand.

The door opens just then, and all eyes shift to the person who has walked in.

It’s Sam, and he’s pursing his lips uncomfortably at all the sudden attention, which quickly shifts back to Peter.

Sam closes the door quietly, standing in front of it, “How’s he holding—“

A scream disrupts his sentence, and he and Tony both look to Peter, who Helen is trying and failing to comfort. 

The cries are filled with pain.

And there’s Tony, who is clenching his jaw and fists, regretting his decision to stay in the room because he thought he could handle it.

What was he thinking?

He should go forwards and help and talk to Peter maybe, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He feels bad that he can’t, but he can’t.

“One more time.” Helen says, regretfully, and nods for a go before they move him again, and he starts to scream again.

And it’s just as bad as it was the first time.

The hoarse screams turn into crying, and Tony looks to Sam, who has an equally sad expression on his face.

“The bullet is lodged. It needs—“

“The wrist is snapped. It—“

“I think it’s more important that we focus on the bullet for now. It’s clearly—“

“He could lose his—” 

“His ankle’s broken. Ans possible TBI.”

“Okay, so two...”

They continue arguing, and move away from Peter, with the exception of a younger looking intern who has probably been tasked with keeping him calm.

Tony steps in. He should, he decides. He moves in, and the intern stops patting Peter and moves back nervously.

Tony sighs, and takes Peter’s shaking hand. The other one is wrapped up, and the lack of movement from him is scary. 

Peter’s crying, and his face is scrunched up in pain under the oxygen mask, so calling his name and patting him wouldn’t help.

Tony can’t tell what Peter’s thinking, because whatever it is, it’s making him panic. A lot. He keeps blinking, and the ceiling is the only thing he can see, which is probably unnerving. 

He’s crying and gasping, and it’s just a situation that Tony never wanted to be in. Ever.

“Peter.” He says quietly, looking at him and trying to calm him down. 

Peter acknowledges him, but it doesn’t calm him down. And the blood is starting to show through the bandages, which is making Tony panic.

This isn’t about him though, and he knows that, but everything about this — ever since they found out Peter was missing, has been making him panic, and anxious. But it’s way worse on Peter, so nothing else should matter right now.

“A lot of people are here to help.” Tony assures Peter, who doesn’t seem to hear him.

He doesn’t know what else to say. So he stands there, hoping that just his presence is enough to help calm Peter.

Sam also stands next to them, a sad expression on his face as he looks on.

“Can’t you give him something?” Tony asks, looking up at the arguing bunch.

Helen, who has been keeping herself out of the conversation, looks up from her tablet and frowns sadly, “nothing worked on him.”

Peter’s weak grip on his hand slightly tightens, and he cries out, pushing his head back against the pillow.

Tony puts a comforting hand on Peter’s forehead as he cries and moans softly.

“You’re safe, buddy.” He tells Peter again. 

Sam gently placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder from behind and looks at Tony. “This might not be the time, but did you see anyone when you were there?”

Tony frowns. “A woman. Had Ann accent, I told her to wait outside for help, she—“. 

She was well-dressed. She had an accent. 

“Shit.” Tony curses, eyes narrowing when he realises. “I let her go?”

Sam doesn’t understand what he means, and shrugs. “Okay, let’s focus on him for now.”

“I can’t, she was—“

“Not here.” Sam interrupts, raising his brows when Tony gets ready to hash out everything here and now. In front of Peter. 

Tony shakes his head, looking down at the shaking boy and then at Helen.

“How are you gonna take the—“ bullet out -he stops and looks down at Peter, pursing his lips. “You know?” Peter doesn’t need to hear it, even though he doesn’t seem to be listening.

Helen makes an awkward face. “I will. I just don’t have time to go exploring for anaesthetics—“ she huffs a laugh uncomfortably,”—which to be clear, I’d be able to do pretty quickly, but I don’t have any time. Like any time. He needs—“

“Wait. It sounds like you’re saying he’ll be awake, which sounds crazy, so tell me that’s not what you’re doing.” He cuts in, shaking his head.

Helen’s face is enough to answer his question, which she doesn’t actually get to do when the monitors start to go crazy.

The monitors speed up, and Tony steps back before he’s pushed out by the swarm of doctors.

“Asystole!” Helen chimes as soon as the beeping turns into one continuous sound. Her colleague immediately starts to do compressions. 

“Push one of epi!”

Standing there feels like forever, but finally, his heart starts beating again. 

“Take him up.” Helen orders.

Tony can’t see what’s going on now,and he’s not sure he wants to, but when Peter’s wheeled out, Helen stays behind.

“He’s unconscious now, hopefully he won’t wake up during surgery — he’s groggy and probably won’t but we’ll see.” She tells him before leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always underestimate how long it’s been since I last updated! 
> 
> Thank you all for the amazing reviews and hope you enjoyed this chapter, I’ll try do the next shorter ones quickly so I can focus on the rest!


	7. Blur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are Infinity War spoilers in here so you can either skip this OR read up to the little warning I added in the chapter!

Within the three painful weeks, he’s learned to ignore the bruises on Peter’s face, or even the fact that he hasn’t moved an inch since he’s been here.

“And don’t get me wrong, FRIDAY’s great, I mean I created her, but…” his sentence fades and he stops throwing the nano-ball in the air. “She’s not JARVIS, you know?”

He looks back to Peter. 

“See, if you were awake you’d tell me some—“ he stops and grabs his forehead. What if he doesn’t ever wake up? 

“How’s he looking?” 

Steve.

Tony frowns, “same as he was yesterday. And the day before, the day—“

Steve waves a hand in the air. “Okay. I get it.”

“Do you?” Tony says quickly, brows furrowed as he purses his lips.

They share yet another awkward silence they always do whenever they end up together.

“My time.” Steve says, and Tony doesn’t argue with that; gets up and hangs around for another few seconds before leaving the room.

And he leaves before he can hear what Steve is saying to Peter. For obvious reasons.

“Of course.” He hears Natasha say into her phone as she hangs up. “A woman. Early to mid-twenties. She was HYDRA, they were looking for a briefcase.” She scoffs at Sam.

“You mean the one I let go?” Tony says from behind, and they both turn.

“You couldn’t have known.” Sam tells him.

Natasha lowers her gaze. “Maybe.” She says accusingly.

“She was convincing.” Tony replies, feeling the guilt rise up.

Natasha frowns, “or you weren’t paying attention.”

“You’re right. I wasn’t. I was looking for Peter, who was basically dead in the next room.”

“I’m not blaming you for—“

“Really? Because it feels like that’s exactly what you’re doing. Catching her wasn’t my priority then.”

“Okay, guys. What’s done is done, we can find her now. She’s one person, how long’s she gonna hide?” Sam steps in between.

“She’s been great at it up till now.” Natasha points out. She’s been a ghost.

“No one was after her before.” Tony says. “And where’s everyone else?” He looks around at the empty place.

“Bruce is with Thor. Vision’s buying ice cream.” Sam says as matter-of-fact.

“Ice cream.” 

_Ice cream. Oh._

* * *

* * *

_“Come on, Peter—“_

May.

Darkness.

_He’s thrown onto the floor, unable to get back up, there’s something on his neck that’s making him—_

_“Peter, baby, look at me, it’s okay, whatever happens, it’s—“_

He sees nothing again. 

_“I swear! I don’t—“ they grab her head, and he looks away in the second he realises what they’re about to do. And he’s screaming. Screaming and crying the same word over and over as he looks away, nearly rocking the chair with him. They just—they killed her! Why did they—_

A loud noise, followed by pain in his stomach. 

Something feels off.

_“You named a star after me?”_

Where is he?

_“I don’t feel so good.”_

When he wakes up, he’s alone.

Scared.

He feels paralysed, just staring at the door in the dim light as he starts to gasp for air

The room starts to quickly flood with people, doctor after doctor just pushing him back down and stopping him from getting up.

He doesn’t like being trapped.

But that’s exactly what they’re trying to do, and he doesn’t understand why - he hasn’t done anything wrong. 

“It’s burning through.” Someone says in the distant, and he tries to look up, but they don’t let him do that either.

“Up it then”

His vision is blurring, and the only one sound that he can clearly hear is himself breathing shakily.

And his mind can’t help but start to pull parallels between this and before. 

“-calm down.” One of them tells him again, and he frowns, because he doesn’t know these people, and he’s as calm as he can be. 

He’s not even moving.

It’s hard. He can’t keep his eyes closed, because it gets dark. He doesn’t like the dark anymore.

And the slightest breeze of air is sending him back to the freezing room he was in earlier. Like slow motion.

“The wrist? The wrist okay?”

His wrist is fine.

“Doesn’t look good.”

What?

He can see his vision blur from the tears while his eyes dart across the room. 

“You’re okay.” A voice tells him, but it sounds unconvincing, so his mind tells him to ignore it and try and look for something. Familiarity, maybe.

But his head starts to hurt as soon as he fidgets, and he feels paralysed again. 

“You’re safe.”

“Peter, can you tell me what year it is?” One of them asks, but everything sounds rushed and panicky.

“I—.” He starts, but then starts breathing too loud. And then he’s panicking. 

“Shit.”

What kinda doctors.

They smother him with tissues, and that just makes him panic and struggle more.

“You have a nosebleed. Stay still for me.” A nicer voice finally instructs him. And he listens.

“Fever’s climbing.”

After that, things start sounding fuzzy. And he feels sick, with all the tissues, pain, talking and bright lights. Very bright.

“Do you know where you are?” Someone shakes him. 

He can’t see properly, so that’d be no. He shakes his head.

“You’re in the Avengers Facility.” She replies with cheeriness. “Do you know what that is?”

He’s about to nod, but has difficulty moving his head again. Difficulty moving anything actually. Everything’s just painful

“Squeeze my finger for me.” Another woman tells him. 

He can’t tell if he does, but he knows that he hates it in here. He’s still hurting and they’re not helping.

Then, just as the tissues disappear, he sees the doctors leave. 

“—in an hour or two.” A clear voice cuts through the silent murmurs, and he opens his eyes and looks ahead at Pepper.

She watches everyone leave the room with a smile, and then closes the door. “Everyone’s going to be so happy you’re awake. Tony especially, he’s been—here. He’s been here. All the time.” She says quickly with a grin.

He frowns and opens his mouth to speak, but only a pained cry comes out.

Pepper’s smile all but disappears as she steps closer. “They said they’re not giving you more pain meds.” She says sympathetically. 

That makes him want to cry. 

She takes his hand and her face has changed.

“A lot of people are here to help. We’re all here for you. I’m sorry, Peter, for what—what happened.” She tells him, eyes glistening. 

And that also upsets him, but not as much as the memory of what happened to May, which is the only thing invading his mind right now. Where the hell was he going to go now?

“Can—did you find her?” He asks, just to make sure. Maybe he didn’t see probably or—

“We did. We buried her.” Pepper tells him, and he takes in a shaky breath, ending up exhaling a cry. Unreal. Unreal.

“No, no, she wasn’t supposed to...” he sniffles and brings a shaky hand to cover his face.

“Peter.” Pepper says sympathetically, and tilts her head. She doesn’t know what else to do - she’s never been in a situation like this before. Tony has.

“—uh, northeast block, a white van maybe? You have the number I—“

Pepper turns in time to see Tony stop talking, phone in hand.

“Tony?” The speaker calls out, and he looks at both Pepper and Peter. 

Peter who is awake.

“I’ll—call you back.” He says, mumbling the sentence as he ends the call. “You’re—“ he huffs a laugh, “thanks for telling me, by the way.”

“Hey, I just found out a few minutes ago.” 

“How is he?” Tony asks, as if Peter isn’t right there.

“In pain.” Pepper answers, because even though he is right there, he’s pretty out of it now.

Tony sits down by him and sighs, placing a hand over Peter’s. “You good?”

Peter is blinking quickly, and his breathing is shallow. But he nods, and it hurts that he does.

“What hurts?”

He doesn’t reply, but the face he makes and his occasional sniffles are enough to know the answer. 

“You’re okay.” Tony says, running a hand through Peter’s hair, and at least that offers him some comfort. 

Peter looks up at him. “What if—will they be back?“ His voice cracks. 

“No.” Tony says confidently, and in hindsight, that’s a bad call. He should know better than to lie.

But he doesn’t know what Peter will do if he tells him otherwise. Freak out? Try to go after them himself? They’re all bad options, and Peter’s stubborn.

“You look sleepy. Go to sleep.” Tony tells him, patting his head to help him do just that.

Then he’s out.

**(A/N Spoiler now!)**

And Tony just stares.

“Tony.” 

He looks up and remembers she’s still here. “Yeah.” 

“You okay?”

He’s tracing his bracelet. “It’s my job to look out for him. And I failed. Three times. Three, Pep.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did. I can say he doesn’t listen, but he’s a kid, and—and how many times am I gonna say I won’t let this happen next time? Because that’s what I said the last three times.” He runs a hand over his face. 

Pepper throws her hands in the air and scoffs, “well, maybe you should’ve listened to him the first time,” she starts, it’s what he wants to hear, “but the other times weren’t your fault.”

“You mean the time he died?” Tony says with a frown, earning a knowing stare from Pepper. “He was just gone, he asked me to help and I said ‘it’ll be alright’—“ his eyes start to water and he takes in a breath. “But I couldn’t do anything and he just—he disappeared. How do you even begin to explain that?”

Pepper looks over at Peter and then purses her lips. He never got over that.

“And now this, I don’t—I can’t explain this either. He survives literally dying and this is what gets him? Freaks wearing black running around kidnapping kids and their aunts.”

“Point is he’s back.”

“She’s not.”

“He is. And you’re the one who found him. Only you.”

“Yeah.” He says pessimistically. 

“They were on the other side of town. Tony, he’s be dead if you weren’t there.” She says. 

He looks up at her. “That’s true.” He can’t even imagine that.

She smiles, “yeah, it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should tell you I have like five chapters written I just keep editing and deleting so it takes ages, and I’m tryna decide which evil person to bring - the woman or Ross? 
> 
> And Infinity War just destroyed me so there’s that (I was 100% expecting them to bring everyone back or something before the movie ended?!), and I’ve been busy with exams! 
> 
> Also, thank you for the awesome reviews awesome people!


	8. Chapter 8

He wakes up properly a whole week later. Otherwise, he’s been in and out; fading before he can make sense of what’s happening. 

He hasn’t healed, and Tony can’t tell why. His wrist is the same as it was before, and even the smallest cuts are still there.

But when he wakes up this time, it’s a calm kind of bright. He frowns at the ceiling and his hand moves to his face, grabbing at whatever is on his face; flinching when it snaps back.

It’s unnerving. All he can hear his himself breathing while he starts to panic.

He turns his head to the door and blinks quickly to get things into focus. 

“I mean, he’s not human. What’s in his blood?”

“Was he one of theirs?”

“He’s been with the aunt since he was four, so I’m guessing not.”

He can’t stay here. 

All the calm is gone now. He just wants to leave this place. He has to.

He scratches at all the tubes and lifts himself up slightly by the shoulders. 

“Oh—Peter?” A voice says, slightly surprised. 

He looks up to see a blurry figure place something quickly on the side table before rushing to him.

“Stay still.”

(“ _Stop moving.”_

“ _You never sedate them enough.”_

_His mind stuck; fuzzed and frozen. He’s awake, but he’s guessing it isn’t planned, because there is surprise and disappointment in the voices he hears._

“ _He’s not ours.”)_

“Hey, what did you—“ just put down? A wave of pain and sleepiness washes over him. 

It’s happening again.

“I know, it’s okay.”

_That’s not what he asked._

“I wa—I wanna go—” he manages to say quietly, and he doesn’t think the person in front even hears him as he’s gently held back.

“Move.” Someone else says.

“Tony—“ 

Where the hell is he?

“You did great, Cap, let me—.” 

“I’m just helping. He has a temperature.”

A hand covers his forehead and then is lifted off after a few quiet seconds. He kind of wishes it would have stayed.

“He’s delirious.”

“And you’re _scaring_ him. Big, bulky guy - he doesn’t _know_ you—“

“He was trying to leave. And he does know me.”

Peter closes his eyes, sniffling and shifting uncomfortable.

“Hey, buddy, it’s me. Tony.”

“I’m—let me go.” Peter says, his voice still barely audible.

* * *

Tony squints, “where do you wanna go?” He asks, keeping a hand on Peter’s shoulder to stop him moving, which is surprisingly easy. Too easy.

“Home. To May, they won’t let me.”

Tony and Steve share a look, and Tony cups the side of Peter’s face to reassure him as he crouches down.

“May’s waiting?” He asks genuinely, and Steve gives him a look. 

Peter nods and hums a yes, his glassy eyes hazily looking at the door past Tony. 

“You’re hurt, does she want you moving around?”

Steve shakes his head, “Tony, don’t do that.”

That confuses Peter, because he frowns. His hand reaches to remove Tony’s, “I just—I just wanna see her. You’ll let me see her?”

It’s simple and genuine, and it hits Tony. Peter should have his aunt here, not people he barely knows telling him not to move; not letting him see her.

Tony wraps his hand around Peter’s and nods, “and you will. You’re just hurt right now.”

“She’s coming.” He whispers, not looking at Tony.

Tony clenches his jaw and can’t bring himself to tell him - it would be wrong to tell him the truth right _now_ >, but also saying she’s here—

“She is.” Steve insists instead, patting Tony’s shoulder. 

Tony looks sympathetically at the boy, who is trying his hardest not to fall asleep.

“Let go, you’re safe,” he tells Peter, who is already sinking back into the pillows.

Tony stands up slowly, eyes still on Peter, “it’s not supposed to take this long.”

“He’s awake. That’s progress.”

“Why’d you lie?” Tony asks out of nowhere, keeping his eyes on Peter. It’s not intended to be harsh, but he knows it’s the type of thing Steve wouldn’t do. 

Steve shrugs, uncharacteristically so, “I doubt he’ll remember in an hour.”

“I saw the look.”

Steve exhales deeply, “because she should be here, and telling him the truth wouldn’t have helped.”

“I would’ve handled it,” Tony says, knowing how difficult it was for Steve to tell that white lie.

“This isn’t something you should have to.” Steve replies, “handle alone, I mean.” 

“Yeah, but I would’ve.” 

“Yeah, you would’ve,” he huffs a laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can’t believe how late this is. I really didn’t know where to take it, started writing another one, and this was in my drafts for months so I guess I’ll try and get somewhere finally. 
> 
> If you’re still reading, even though I updated it after like 5 months, you’re amazing.


	9. She’s A Dream

_He nearly falls off the edge of the bed, phone clattering to the floor from his shaking hands. He looks to the window, but knows he won’t make it time._

_She starts to load the gun, “you know, the only reason I did no’ kill you, was because I knew you wouldn’ live,” she tells him, hair covering half of her face when she focuses on her weapon_

_Peter freezes - can feel his heart race and hear his blood pump, “I didn’t—I don’t know anything—just—“_

_He stops talking when he sees someone stand up from the chair behind her, but there wasn’t anyone there before, who—May. It’s May._

_She looks out the window, then to Peter, “don’t let him hurt.”_

_Peter shakes his head, tears now streaming down his cheeks, “May, help,” he manages to say, eyes scanning the room for some sort of exit plan. He can’t find one, maybe because he’s panicking so much._

_Keres smiles, “when do I ever?”_

_He lifts up both hands in defence, and sees May look down at him in pity, “no, wait—“_

_”Bye, baby.”_

_And the gun goes off._

He wakes up with a half-suppressed scream; breathless and tightly clutching the pillow in one hand and clenching his fist in the other.

He kicks the duvet off and sits up - takes a few deep breaths and goes over his stinging palm with his thumb, where he can feel the broken skin.

_“Peter.”_

He flinches, and quickly turns to the small figure standing right in front of the bed, but all he can make out are the glistening brown eyes.

He doesn’t speak until the boy does, “I get scared at night sometimes,” the boy breaks the silence.

And Peter recognises the voice immediately - isn’t sure why he couldn’t make it out from the eyes alone. He sniffles, then leans his head against the headboard, because there is six-year old Peter, climbing back into reality from the back of his mind.

His younger self is harmless, Peter knows, but the last time he saw it was when he was seconds from dying, “go away,” he mutters, closing his eyes.

“I sawed this thing on the TV, it was insane! Like this monster but—“

The sentence abruptly cut off and he opens his eyes again, sees the empty spot where his hallucination was standing just seconds ago. Maybe he is going insane, because normal people don't see things like this, do they?

The door creaks a little, and he looks over at the shadow reflecting from the corridor lights outside. _Tony._

“You’re up,” Tony announces, scratching his head and gently pushing the door behind him, “it’s early.” It's an awkward statement to make at three in the morning, but he isn't sure how to walk into a room without blatantly saying he's here because he knows Peter just had a nightmare.

“Why are you up?” Peter asks, sitting up and on the edge of the bed now. He asks it, sure, but then it hits him just seconds after that he _knows_ why he's here. He's probably being a bother, waking people up in the middle of the night.

Tony shrugs, “just…passing by," he plays off, but the yawn and disheveled hair betray him, and he tries to straighten himself out and look a little presentable, because Peter catches these things.

Peter narrows his eyes before he decides that it’s a lie, “no, you weren’t," he feels bad. Really bad. 

Tony huffs a laugh, “I heard you," he lies, because it isn't supposed to be a bad thing. "I heard you wake up." 

He doesn’t have to even think about that, “that’s impossible,” he tells his mentor, who purses his lips and brings up both hands in the air.

“You got me,” he says, “because you’re smart.”

Peter doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing. And the silence washes over them for the next few minutes.

“Fever gone?” Tony finally asks, and Peter shrugs, but doesn’t speak, so he leans in instead and puts a hand against the boy’s forehead, the flinch not going unnoticed, “that’s a no.”

Peter squints, “I feel fine," he admits, because he does. Fevers aren't painful.

“Sure,” Tony breathes, looking over to the night-desk, grabbing the little paper cup and rattling it, “ _these_ are supposed to be gone.”

“I don’t need them.”

“They’re painkillers, of course you do.”

“I don’t.”

Tony sighs, “if this is your way of hurting yours—“

“It’s not—I’m not!” Peter shrieks in defence, then sags his shoulders, “I’m not.”

Tony nods, “then what are you doing?” He seems to find himself asking a whole lot of questions, and sometimes it makes him wonder if he's doing something wrong, or grossly misunderstanding everything and bombarding him with questions he shouldn't be asking, albeit this isn't one of them.

There’s a perfectly sane explanation for why he isn’t taking the meds. “They make me foggy. I don’t dream.”

Tony sits down next to him, then looks over, “there’s nothing wrong with foggy for a few days,” he says softly.

“It’s not—May’s in my dreams,” Peter admits, “and time’s gonna pass, and she won’t be anymore, and I need her.”

He extends an arm over the boy’s shoulder, “you won’t forget her," he tells him, even though that seems obvious, and is probably the wrong thing to tell him considering his lighting response and face.

“Of course I won’t,” Peter says quickly, then understands where the confusion is, “I mean, she’--I won’t forget her, but in the dreams she looks real,” he explains, fiddling with his fingers, "she's alive."

“What’s the dream? Is it the same?”

“No. There’s—there’s one that happens a lot.” 

“What happens?”

“That woman. She finds me, _here_ , and there’s nowhere to go. She’s getting ready to—“ he can’t look anywhere but the floor anymore, and doesn’t want to say the word, “—to kill me. And May’s there, but she won’t help, she just says I shouldn’t get hurt,” he shrugs, confusion underlying his tone, “and then she says bye, and the gun goes off.”

In hindsight, it’s probably silly to get so worked up over an illusion that only lasts few minutes. But dreams keep the world going. They keep _him_ going.

“That’s not May,” Tony tells him, and Peter looks over incredulously, “yeah—well, it’s physically May, but that’s not _her_ ”.

“It is.”

“It’s not. It’s you.” There’s a confused look on Peter’s face and Tony continues, “it’s her doing everything you’re thinking.”

Peter nearly jumps back, “I’m not thinking—“

“You never got to say bye. You think you’ll never move on.” He just hopes it's right, because the only thing he knows for sure is that this distorted image of her was all wrong, and it wasn't something he should want to relive over and over. 

Peter’s eyes burn with tears, and he tries to breathe, to calm down, but nothing seems to help in that moment, and he can feel the tears coming.

His face scrunches up, and it feels like someone has punched the air out of him; like there is something inside him that is broken and can never, ever be fixed; something that will haunt him forever and never let him rest. This feeling will never go away, and it’ll always be hidden in some corner ready to emerge.

Tears stream down his face, and he finds his face pressed against Tony’s chest the next moment, a hand going through his hair.

“Sorry,” Tony offers, maybe because it is his fault for bringing this up and making Peter cry again.

Peter hitches a cry, “how do you—you know, there were—“ he never gets to finish the sentence, because he suddenly can’t find his ability to form sentences or say words without breaking up.

“You don’t wanna talk about it, that’s fine,” Tony’s voice cracks, “or you do, that’s—that’s also fine, anything you want,” he says, because this is new territory - nothing he has _ever_ had to deal with before.

“Everyone.” Peter manages to say, “they all—they never—I _never_ said bye.”

“I know,” Tony says, and it’s least because he knows the feeling all too well. Maybe not like Peter does, but he knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I had to rewrite this one after I lost it :/
> 
> Enjoy, and leave a comment - I'm so happy that so many people are still reading even though I took like a year to update, but hopefully I'll finish it this time!
> 
> Also, idk why I’m obsessed with the idea of making him hallucinate his younger self but I’ve added it in all my stories I’m writing for some reason. That’s all


	10. Chapter 10

He ends up on the roof a few days later, cross-legged and sitting at the highest point he can find so he can look down at the city. He doesn’t recognise anything here.

He lives nearly an hour away from here, and staring at the water surrounding this area, and the calmness radiating from it is foreign. It’s not home.

Home is noisy. Home _was_ small and stuffy and perfect. It was where he stared out his windows and could find, at almost any time of day, one or two people stumbling down the streets and just enjoying life.

At home, he never has to be extra careful or even think about what he says, or what he does, because it’s home, and there’s May, and everything there is his.

This place is new. It’s somewhere he could spend a night every few months when he was too tired to go home. But it’s not his. No one is going to love and coddle him here like May did — they don’t know him like she did.

The door opens behind him - gently and slowly, and he turns his head and watches Natasha take a few wary steps towards him, and even though her stride is confident, she seems nervous.

He watches her and turns back around to the city. 

“Peter,” she says, but it comes out like more of a question, as if she’s not sure he’s the right person. 

He hangs his head down, “yeah,” he answers, and she leans in towards the ledge where he’s sitting.

“A little too high, isn’t it?” She asks, following his eyes as the smallest smile finds its way onto her face when she looks down herself.

He shrugs, “I’m fine,” he tells her, even though it isn’t what she asked. She’s trying to ask why he’s sitting on the roof at sunset on a day as cold as this one by himself.

“People are looking for you,” she really doesn’t feel the need to add her name onto that list of people, but finding him the way they did those few weeks ago really scares you. “You keep disappearing.”

Peter runs a hand over his face and sighs, “I don’t—I like it out _here_.”

“Well—“ she cuts herself off when she realises she’s really about to tell him to go to his room and find something warm to put on. She’s caring, but she’s not this person. This is Tony’s job, or whoever is supposed to be looking after him. 

She clicks her tongue, “okay then,” she decides to say against her better judgement, and leaves Peter sitting there while she turns on her heels and goes back the way she came from. 

Peter doesn’t turn, he listens to her heartbeat disappear down the stairs, and then hops off the edge. It _is_ cold, and the reason he doesn’t want to be back in the medical wing again is mostly because he hates everyone walking in and asking how he is, because none of those people are May.

But he doesn’t want to go back downstairs either, because he never knows how to interact or talk, or answer any of the questions they have. He feels like an outsider.

* * *

Tony watches the elevator ping, and feels a nervousness rush through him, which dissipates quickly when he sees its just her, “he’s definitely there?”

Natasha nods, “Yes,” says, and watches Tony glare at her with narrowed eyes. “He didn’t come,” she feels the need to say, in case he’s waiting for Peter to also magically appear.

“I can see that,” Tony says sarcastically, “why not?”

She huffs a laugh, “he says he likes it up there,” she tells him, shrugging uncharacteristically and grabbing an apple from the table.

He frowns, “what was that?”

She looks up, frozen in her spot and eyes widened, “what was what?”

He scoffs, then imitates a dramatic shrug, “that—you never do that.”

Natasha stares uncomfortably, and watches Tony stare back with just as much ferocity, “people shrug.” 

He nods, “sure, people do. You don’t.”

“Whatever,” she brushes him off, taking a bite of the apple, “if you were so concerned why didn’t _you_ go?” 

He breaks the eye contact at that, and throws both hands in the air, “I feel like I’m trapping him in here. And maybe he hates me for it.”

Natasha watches him carefully. Watches the way he sounds so hopeless and in need of help, and the way his eyes wander off somewhere else when he finishes his sad epiphany. 

“I think you’re not giving him enough credit,” she tells him, and it earns his attention. He gives her a small smile, and decides to head towards the elevator himself.

The elevator takes him right to the top, and when it opens, he sees Peter facing him, as if waiting for him.

Peter opens his mouth, but nothing comes out for a good few seconds, “I—I was coming down,” he clarifies.

Tony hums, then nods his head at Peter to get in, and he does. They stand by each other awkwardly as the elevator doors close again.

“Listen,” Tony starts, and they’re already at the common room, “how about we—do you wanna go somewhere? Today maybe— _tomorrow_?”

“Like where?”

“Anywhere. Wherever you want.”

“Is, uh, is our apartment still…you know, is it…” he doesn’t how to say it.

Tony clears his throat and nods, “it’s—May paid for two months, so it’s still—it’s there till the next week.”

Peter gets out the elevator, and then stops in his tracks, “I wanna go there.”

The hesitancy tells Peter it’s not the ‘anywhere’ Tony was expecting or maybe wanting to hear.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Tony says quickly, “and I’ll take you.”

“That’s fine, I can go by myself.”

“Queens—your apartment is an hour away, how exactly are gonna be ‘fine’ by yourself?”

Peter scratches the back of his head, “there’re cabs and Uber—“

“What about Happy? Happy’ll drive you.”

“Alright. Okay, that’s fine.”

* * *

He ends up in his apartment in an hour, and it’s not Happy that drives him, because Happy isn’t hanging around at five doing nothing. So Mr Stark takes him.

Everything is just how he last remembers, but he knows they cleaned up, because there was definitely broken glass and toppled over coat racks with everything that went down a few weeks ago.

The albums are here. They’re in May’s room, but he doesn’t want to go in there knowing that she isn’t inside, and she’ll never be again.

Mr Stark told him over the ride that he didn’t need to worry, that he’d bring all the stuff here over for him to sort through. So he leaves it and doesn’t enter that forbidden room.

Instead, he walks slowly and lazily into his own room, but it doesn’t seem like it’s his anymore. Those are all his things, but that sense of familiarity he _knew_ would be here is gone. It has disappeared into some random corner of the earth, and he’ll never get it back.

So it’s useless to sit on his bed, and to shift one of the pillows vertically, and then lay down and pull over the duvet now being layered by a thin veil of dust. And he holds onto the pillow and buries his face into it.

It’s pretty stupid, he thinks, but what if she just walked through and surprised him? Maybe she’s been waiting for him to return. Maybe she’s angry that he didn’t.

Everything feels different, but this was supposed to be the same; his room was supposed to be the same. Now it’s just empty and dusty, just like him, and it won’t ground him - not even the people screaming outside of the sound of traffic help, and if anything, just bring him back to a state of panic and nostalgia that threatens to break him piece by piece.

This isn’t home anymore. May isn’t here, so it’ll never be home again.

And now he realises that the expectations he set for this place were too high. It was supposed to tug him back down, but he still feels like he’s floating through the days, doing nothing productive and being scared all day. All day.

He kicks the comforter off, and quickly turns and puts his feet on the carpet. Everything is bad. 

The atmosphere is dull and grey, like a rainy day. Even though the lights are on, they suddenly seemed dimmed and dark.

Standing up makes him a little dizzy, but he looks around to all his stuff — minus the textbooks and essentials which were already back at the Compound, everything is lying here discarded.

His few posters are hanging on the wall, and the laundry basket with only a few socks is sitting by his bed. His desk is still littered by pens, scrap paper, charging wires and Lego’s.

Tears burn in his eyes, and he takes a shuddering breath. Everything they had is gone like it was never here.

He startles and panics as soon as a familiar ringing starts to break through the silence. May’s phone. Why the hell would it be ringing?

Everything else is still quiet, and the exception is the tune ringing cheerily across the deadly silent apartment while he follows the sound, stepping carefully and fearfully to her room.

It’s shut, probably has been since she left unless they went inside to get something, which he doesn’t think they did.

He grabs the knob and pushes the door inwards, and the ringing becomes clear and loud. It’s plugged in, he assumes, because it’s been over a month since it was last even touched. 

Picking up her duvet, he finds the phone just as the ringing stops, screen lit up to a picture of him and her and plugged into a white charging cable, which he pulls at.

It’s hot.

And the number—

It rings again.

There’s no name. He still accepts it and puts the phone to his ear, his breathing almost nonexistent, but the person on the other end isn’t as quiet. 

And then whoever is calling hangs up abruptly, and he’s left staring at the phone, which feels like it’s about to erupt into flames. He leaves the room before he finds himself staring around and crying again, and sets the phone down on the dining table when he’s out.

And he sits down by it, running a tired hand over his face. This sucks.

He takes the phone a few minutes later, and stands up to take a last look around to the place he’ll never come back to. Not anytime soon.

Tucking the phone into his pocket, he heads out. 

This is no longer the place he was looking for.


End file.
